


Letters to Bode

by Pamphylia



Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Backstory, Letters, Moving On, Past Relationship(s), Smoking, angst with a mild ending, fucking kity, implied ganymede and nuns, more like burn, pope marauder cinematic universe, sad wine dad admetos, secret rooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29927226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pamphylia/pseuds/Pamphylia
Summary: The Letters of Sorrow Bring A Better Tomorrow.
Kudos: 2





	Letters to Bode

**Author's Note:**

> tw for alcohol use and smoking, as well as a large mention of death and revenge.
> 
> a backstory dedicated to my best, stern, and firm pope of hell: admetos.
> 
> don’t like, don’t read if you come through this.
> 
> aside from that, enjoy!

It was raining.

He didn’t notice. Green eyes stared at the red flames of the fireplace, constantly swinging, sparking. The old, rough, sandpapered letter in his hand was held tightly. The exquisite wine he occasionally drank sat perfectly on the table near his chair. The boards of the wooden floor were separated from the ground, and stashes of papers and expensive alcoholic beverages were missing from its usual place. The elder took them out, of course, as no one could get in. Only himself. Except for the little calico feline that occasionally sleeps on the empty shelves. He was too tipsy and too tired to hear the soft pitter patter from above nor could he listen to the cute purring from the cat. The marauder was in his secret cellar, hidden away under the church where no one could find him. Drinking himself to nothing as he always does every night. The white, shiny cobwebs encapsulated the corner walls of the wine cellar, the sound of his long smoking, sturdy and silver pipe as Father Admetos took one puff of the tobacco. Savoring the nicotine hitting him softly, breathing out the smoke and watching it stay in the air. He grabbed a hold of the wine glass on his stand and drank the entire liquid in large, tantalizing gulps. Admetos shivered at the aftertaste but the warmth came to him soon after. 

He absentmindedly started to read the letter in his gloved hand again, reading every word. Admetos understood every sentence it said, every wonderful sentence it spoke out. It was like it was talking to him. The letter may have been a person, lost in his collection of his treasures hidden under the floorboards. Always being read over and over. The paradigm was clear but Admetos simply thought he didn’t have any more books to read. Although his distant relative, Father Ganymede, informed him of the books that arrived the day prior. While Admetos was having a bit of a busy evening on that day, the nuns thankfully took them all up to the backroom where they would be organized. At least he could rip up those invitations the priests sent to him when no one looked. The letter was still there, and still touching to him, Admetos did not know why. But he assumed that he was once alive many years ago, hence those thirty letters he has. However, this one, the one in his grasp, affected him the most. 

Admetos didn’t even know he had a name when he was alive. He thought he only existed for the annihilation of The Doom Slayer, the abjection of humans, and the praise of his true lord. Cursed be, to those that pray in the masses, let them be demonized. Let them be one with the hue. Let the heinous men with heinous phalluses suffer from everything they hurt. Let them burn within the fiery pits of the ninth circle. Let them be splayed apart at the seams, their knees destroyed and their skulls widened in scrimshaw. Yes. Those men. The men that ruined him. That ruined his dignity and pride. That made Admetos who he is today. The men that-

The men that killed him. He remembered that since he agreed to become a religious prophet. Those letters were stashed in the inner pockets of his robes, folded neatly but not creased. One of them mentioned men looking dastardly and strong, with heavy weapons and went after the poor of his time. They worked for a higher hierarchy, demanding money every time, and of course they had no choice but to pay them. Admetos did it, of course, but they killed him one way or the other. Drowning him in a nearby river, restrained and dragged through the foul, disgusting mud by rope. The awful material that gave his wrists those scars were still there. Hidden behind his black gloves. Admetos clenched at the letter on that day, and all he could have thought was that he could have killed all of those men and ran away with his love. His… love.

The special letter made him question everything. Admetos was just like his relative, a naive but serious man who sought love from someone who loved him back. Admetos appreciated it, and desired it and cherished it with all of his heart. The person behind the letters, that simple scribe, full of life and happiness. The eldest marauder wished he could go back to him, one last time.

Could he have died too? Under the cold, dark influence of the earth from back then?

Admetos may never know. He may have had a healthy, long life until he died of old age. Given the many problems the general public had during his time. At least his family members remembered him. But all the books, articles and lectures he wrote, they were all burned. Erased from his own history, a blank slate in the tree. He felt so ashamed and alone for so long. Even with the addition of Ganymede, he kept his stern composure for many years. He was not like the man before, and he will not be weak to anyone that desires to ruin his whims once more. Admetos will not let anyone punish him again.

He kept on reading the letter over and over, until he stood up and walked in front of the fireplace. Admetos stared at the introduction carefully.

_ Monsieur Estienne _ ,

Estienne… Estienne… Estienne. Was that really his real name? His human name? Admetos is not sure.

_ I hope that you are in good health and liberty. I am reaching to you in plight, as much as I desire to. I wished the days where we’d both meet occurred ever so often, but as the times pass, and the terrible rulers of this place happens, I must say goodbye to you. I am afraid I must escape this country for I am being tracked down by those men. Please, do not worry about me, my love. I will be fine and I shall regularly write to you when I arrive at my location… I miss you greatly, Roul, and I wished I was there with me. But, you know where I am, don’t you? You have always been a prodigy of the places I visit! _

_ I must go, but until then, au reviour, Estienne. _

_ I love you. _

That was the last letter he read before he died. Admetos clenched it so hard he nearly ripped it. He stopped at the small crease of the rough paper, and breathed heavily. Letting all of his stress out, a few tears escaped his hollow eyes, but he quickly wiped them out so they wouldn't hit the metal of his mask. The elder looked at the letter once more, and contemplated the last events of his thirty-nine years of his human life. How he loved it but hated it. How he wanted to be with him again. That scribe… The only person that helped him get through as both human and marauder.

Until he threw it in the fire, watching as the red heat quickly bore into the black ink, seeing it crumple, then turn to ash in a matter of minutes.

Admetos said his words, ever so quietly, as to but a whisper, 

“I’m sorry.”

He knows that he will never meet him again. Not in a million years. But as long as he has someone to cherish, maybe he’ll feel something. 

Something like them. Something like him.

**Author's Note:**

> adieu, estienne.
> 
> also, i just came back from a long ass hiatus and tbh, it’s my fuckin weird ass mind lol.


End file.
